


Glenn Comes Home

by StolenBlueBox



Series: Glenn and Shelby [1]
Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 21:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StolenBlueBox/pseuds/StolenBlueBox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glenn before the storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glenn Comes Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anemptymargin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anemptymargin/gifts).



            Glenn ran to his car, pizza’s in hand. The back window was open already, he slid the pies into the back seat and hopped into the front with a quick, efficient little motion. One stop left and he could go home for the night, count his tips, and pass out. It was barely past two am,, just at the beginning of the haze-filled morning when everything seems to be stranger than normal.

            He slammed it into first gear and took off, a slight chirp of wheel spin leaving his mark on the road behind him. “Oh, sorry Shelby,” he said, cooing his car like it was his girlfriend. To be fair, he loved the car more than he’d loved his past girlfriends so that was more than fair. It was an 80’s Dodge Omni GLHS. To most it looked like an ugly box that the 80’s had thrown up on, but to him it was perfect. Fast, practical, and invisible to the world. Just perfect.

            He shifted to second and speed through a yellow before taking an exit and popping on to the abandoned highway. Atlanta has these abandoned aqueducts that crossed the city. They were flat, made of concrete and relatively easy to get onto from the main roads. As such, a few of the locals treated them like highways.

            That’s when he noticed the cop car.

            What was strange was it wasn’t rolling. He’d just broken the law, or at least had done enough to merit some annoying Atlanta PD cowboy to roll on him, give him a ‘stern talking to,’ but nothing happened. “Woo! Lucky tonight.”

            He sped off.

            A few minutes later, he arrived at the last house of the night.

            The lights were on upstairs. Glenn grabbed the pizzas out of the back and bounced up the walkway.

            He rang the bell.

            What followed was the longest five minutes of his life. He rang, he knocked, he politely waited, he rang, he called, he rang, he knocked, rang, knocked, rang, called, called headquarters, called, and rang one more time. Then he turned around.

            She was at the end of the driveway, limping towards him. There was something in how she was breathing, something hollow and empty - like she was missing a lung.

            “Hey! Are you the one that ordered the pizza?”

            Nothing.

            “Lady did you ... holy shit, what happened to your ...”

            Glenn suddenly noticed that her stomach had fallen out, and her intestine was following out like a hose unraveling behind her. She didn’t reach out for her stomach or the pizza. She reached out for Glenn.

            That’s when he saw her eyes.

            And only two words would sum up the situation: “Oh shit!”

            Her jaw opened up and her tongue flopped out. He dropped the food and ran.

            “You can keep the pizza!”

       Glenn panted and held on to the wheel, freaking out.

            The cops. He had to call the cops. He slammed on the breaks and slid to the side of the road. Quickly he dialed 911.

            He knew something was wrong when no-one picked up.

            He hung up and called his sister. It was the only thing he could think of doing.

            “Sis?”

            “Glenn, get over here. Something is going on.”

            “I’m on my way. What is going on?”

            “Just get back. I’ll explain it when you’re here.”

            “Can’t you ...”

            “Glenn, shut up and trust me.”

            “... fine.”

            “Just ... don’t take a chance. If you think there is something wrong with someone, just keep coming home. Don’t pull over. Not tonight.”

            “Are you ... ok. Sure. I’m on my way over.”

            “Speed.”

            “What?”

            “Speed. If you get pulled over, give them my number, tell them you’re heading to a family emergency.”

            She never did this. Ever. Glenn always got this lecture about driving safety and about the “number of brains she’s scooped up” and “how dare he make her worry about him.” He wasn’t even that fast a driver usually.

            Twenty minutes later, he was nearly there. They lived pretty close to an aqueduct, which made getting there surprisingly easy. He popped on to the highway a few miles back. Weaving on the interstate had been a little bit creepy with all the abandoned cars.

            He ran up to the house and around the side gate to the front yard, only to find another walker, this one pounding on the door. He gasped, and the walker looked over at its new meal. Glenn looked around for something to use.

            “Hey idiot!”

            He looked up and his sister was leaning out the window.

            “Catch!” She tossed him an aluminum baseball bat. “Go for the head!”

            He grabbed the bat and looked at the walker, who was limping towards him. He looked back, and she was gone. “How do I swing this thing?” He asked to himself, thinking baseball didn’t apply to people. “Eh, worked to hit a ball, should hit a head, right?” He spread his legs, bent his knees, and squared up like he was playing t-ball.

            “Oh god.” The walker tripped forward a little, lowering his right arm. An opening.

            Glenn swung. One crack and his head popped back as he stammered back for a few moments before lumbering forward again. Glenn took a deep swallow.

            The walker reached out again. Glenn swung through his arms, connected with his head, and this time fractured the skull. The zombie stepped forward once then fell over, truly dead again.

            The door opened.

            “Get your ass in here. The fuck took you so long?”

            “I’m sorry. It’s crazy out there.”

            She was thin and tall. Her glasses and relatively small frame hid a contradiction - she was on SWAT and had been for years.

            “I think the world’s come to an end.”

            Glenn laughed.

            “No, no, I’m sure it’s just some people are getting sick. I heard about this on the news. Something about a fever or ...”

            “Listen to me, the police station was overrun by people. Everyone saying they saw people doing fucked up shit to other people. Rising from the dead. Ripping each other apart. Fucking pandemonium. Then we heard the first screams. I barely made it out the back but the radios are just violent noises and silence. It’s fucking over.”

            Glenn sat down on the couch.

            “Where’re ... where’re mom and dad?”

            Emma didn’t answer.

            “Where are they?”

            “Florida.”

            Glenn looked at her, first confused then scared. He collapsed into himself and onto the floor, shaking madly. She ran over to hold him.

            “Glenn, I’m so sorry. But we have to go.”

            Glenn looked at the floor. “Alright. Where do we go from here?”

            She lifted his head. “I have supplies in my bedroom. We’ll be alright for a while.”

            Glenn nodded. Looking into his older sister’s eyes was like looking at his mother. It focused him. “Tell me you have guns.”

            She nodded and they went to her room.

            Under her bed there was a locked chest. She pulled it out and opened the lock. Inside was a treasure trove of things they’d need. Glenn had never been happier his sister was a gun nut.

            “Gimme something ... like this.” He said, picking up a shotgun.

            She sighed. “You’re such a simpleton.”

            “What? Big stick. Go boom.”

            She laughed slightly. “You haven’t had to deal with any of this. I couldn’t drive here, my car was stuck in the garage. Walked here and, trust me, gun shots call more of … them in. The streets are insane.” She looked him straight in the eye, like she was used to it already.

            “Exactly. I need something big to keep me safe.”

            “Big will get you killed. I saw one of them get chain sawed in half and still end up chewing on the guy with the ‘saw.” Glenn’s jaw dropped. “Only head shots do anything.” He nodded. “And they go to noises like dogs.” She leaned in. “We’re going to stay quiet, we’re going to stay out of the way and we’re going to survive.”

            He blinked. She smiled and backed off.

            “I’m taking this,” she said, picking up an old bolt-action rifle. It had a strap, she threw it over her back. “You’ll want this.” She hands him a small pistol with a tube attached to the barrel. “It’s quiet with the silencer on, it carries 12 rounds, and I’ve got a couple clips here.” She pulls back on the barrel. “Flick this, *click* that means it’ll fire, *click* that means it’s safe to move. Keep it with you and keep it loaded.”

            He picked it up and looked at it, slightly in awe. “This is … so freaking cool.” Then he saw what she was carrying and he fell over with envy. “Aww, c’mon! You’re kidding me!” She’d just picked up an MP-5 SD, a sub machine gun with a built in silencer and a B-science-fiction-prop-looking laser sight on the top. “That’s, like, Rambo cool. Special Forces on crack.”

            “Ha ha. It’s what I use at work. I’m used to it.”

            “Can I have one of those?”

            “Nope.”

            “But ...”

            “Nuh uh.” She loaded a clip into it and put the rest into a backpack that she pulled out from the side of the chest. He slumped over, sad for a moment before grabbing his gun and loading a round in the chamber. She grabbed the rest of the guns and supplies in the chest and shoved them into the bag before slinging it over her shoulder.

            “Glenn, go into my closet. There’s a green tube in there.”

            He ran in to the closet. She meant the tube of papers he’d been told to ignore. Why did she need those?

            He grabbed it and realized it was too heavy to be papers.

            “What is this ...”

            “That’s your FUBAR tube.”

            “My FUBAR tube?”

            “Open it.”

            He opened the tube. There was a short barreled, 12 gauge shotgun.

            “Six shots plus one in the chamber. There is one in the chamber. Pulling it out takes off the safety. Be careful with it.”

            “Go grab your old backpack and anything they have in the kitchen.”

            Glenn ran downstairs and threw the cabinets open. There was nothing they could carry. This was bad.

            He ran upstairs. “Nope. Nothing. It’s all mom’s veggies and they’re everywhere. It’s like a bomb went off in there.”

            She sighed. “Alright, we have to stop next door before we do anything. We need to have supplies before we set off.”

            He nodded and pulled out the shotgun.

            She smacked him over the head.

            “You fucking idiot! Give me that.”

            She set up the tube and scoffed him at the same time. “Emergency. As in ‘oh my fucking god we’re all going to die.’ Not just things are hard.”

            He gulped and they walked downstairs.

            They met at the front door of their neighbors, looking each other in the eye. They opened the door.

            In the hallway, there was a female walker, her dress tainted with blood. Emma dropped her quickly with a quick shot to the head. They both breathed a little easier until they heard the gasp from the kitchen. Emma went in first, Glenn following behind. Glenn aimed his pistol at the door. It opened, and Emma, yet again, dropped him in one shot.

            They moved on to the kitchen, then they swept the rest of the house. They had kids, but the kids must have left because as far as they could tell they weren’t in the house. They met up in the kitchen and put their weapons down to load up Glenn’s backpack.

            “Alright, look for high carb stuff. I’ve got tooth brushes and tooth paste. Oh, grab water if they have it. And look for dried fruit, it’s healthy and got vitamins and ... and I’m going to shut up now.”

            “And breathe. God. You OK?”

            “I’m fine. You?”

            He laughed. “I ... can fake it.”

            She laughed. “Close enough.”

            “Awesome, Pop Tarts.” Glenn pulled out several big, unopened boxes.

            “Sweet, somehow I knew these spoiled brats would have tons of good stuff.”

            Glenn looked up, slightly horrified. They looked at each other, both dead serious, until Glenn started laughing and Emma followed.

            “I had you.”

            “Bullshit.”

            Just behind them, the basement door burst open. Five zombie children spilled out, grabbing at them. Glenn’s eyes went wide. They grabbed for the guns. Glenn happened to be closer and had his pistol up. Emma wasn’t so lucky. As she grabbed it, one of the children grabbed her and bit her neck. She picked up her MP-5 and flicked the switch to open, spraying wildly. Two more got bites and she waved the gun at the zombies desperately, her final attempt at protecting her brother. She emptied the clip, taking out one of the zombies and hitting the two who were heading to her brother.

            “Run,” she gurgled past the blood and led. The other two had begun to move forward. Glenn grabbed the food bag and ran.

            He sprinted out the front door and managed all of six steps before he fell over and vomited. He was about to start crying when one of the walkers appeared at the door. He shot it and turned around. Four more were walking towards him.

            He ran for Shelby and got away as quickly as he could.


End file.
